


Under Your Skin

by xxenjoy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy
Summary: When Geralt falls under the spell of a succubus, Jaskier is more than willing to help, despite Geralt's hesitation to let him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 684





	Under Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> **a/n:** oop, it's me again, pretending like I know anything about monsters and how they affect people.

Geralt realizes his mistake the second he's made it, but it's too late to do anything about it now. The gash on his thigh stings like hell, but he's still got a succubus to kill and she's putting up one hell of a fight. He'd tried to talk her down, get her to move on and out of the city, but this one is particularly stubborn and is having none of it. She charges him and Geralt reminds himself he has three dead villagers to avenge, putting his focus on them instead of the rising temperature of his own body. He has to act fast; faster even than he normally would with a succubus and she isn't making it easy for him.

He ducks right and rolls out of her path, hopping back up behind her. But she's quick and when she turns to swipe at him, Geralt only narrowly dodges the blow. His reflexes are slowing, the relentless heat seeping in and filling up every crack and corner, slowing him down and making him vulnerable. But Jaskier is barely out of sight and Geralt won't risk letting a succubus have her way with him. Especially when he'd make such an easy target. It’s with him in mind, that Geralt pushes through the sensations and keeps moving.

He side-steps just out of her reach, calculating. He has to finish this quickly and he has to do it without making a mess; it's hard enough to be welcomed in town without being covered in succubus blood. And as soon as he's done here, he needs to get himself to the brothel before the feeling under his skin gets any stronger. 

The succubus lunges again and nicks him, but Geralt is quicker this time, tripping her up and pushing her to the ground. He doesn't hesitate before plunging his sword into her chest. She resists, kicking him in the shin and grappling with the blade, but Geralt's brute strength wins out and she stills under him. Geralt leans on his blade for a moment, catching his breath before withdrawing it again and stumbling away from the body. 

He needs to bring proof of death to the town mage, but right now he can't even think about that. He needs to get away from her, away from Jaskier and toward someone who can get him through this before it gets any worse. But he is getting worse. Heat sears through him like too much sun on a hot summer day and already his mind is getting foggy. He needs to get to town before he loses control entirely. But he can't get into town without walking past their camp and past Jaskier and he can't be near Jaskier like this, so he's going to have to do something about it first. 

Stumbling toward the closest tree, he braces himself, that familiar tug of arousal taking hold. He splays his fingers against the bark, shifting his weight to balance himself as he works open the buttons on his trousers. He's rock hard and aching and he barely gets the top three buttons undone before he's shoving his hand into his trousers, taking himself in hand. 

The initial touch is good, and Geralt has to bite back a moan as he strokes up to the head of his cock, twisting his fingers around. The pleasure doesn’t last. It's good for a minute, but the feeling doesn't build and despite every fantasy he pulls up, every past affair he recalls, nothing helps. The feeling plateaus and the heat under his skin burns hotter. 

Jaskier finds him like that, leaning against a tree with his cock in his hand and Geralt is too frustrated to care. But he smells him, the spicy-sweet scent drifting on the breeze and Geralt growls low in his throat because this cannot be happening to him. Anything else, anyone by Jaskier. 

"Geralt-?" he asks and Geralt's cock jerks in his hand, interested at last. But Geralt shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, ignoring the voice in his head that reminds him of what he really wants. It tells him Jaskier could help, reminds him that this is what he’s wanted after all, at night when the fire burns low or when Jaskier’s fingers massage knots out of his muscles in the bath. 

Geralt steadfastly ignores it, assuring himself that it’s just the spell working its way through him and he’ll get through this some other way, he just has to get to town. He just has to get past Jaskier first. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks and the most bitter part of Geralt wants to ask if he can’t see what’s wrong, but he keeps his mouth shut. “I could help?”

 _No_ , Geralt thinks, but his body hasn’t quite caught up with that decision. He doesn't like being watched, less so by Jaskier, but when Jaskier speaks the burning subsides and Geralt can _feel_. This is the last thing he wants Jaskier present for, but he lets him stay, though he doesn't let him get close. And Jaskier knows something is wrong, so he stands there like he's on the other side of a door, stepping from side to side anxiously. 

"Talk to me," Geralt rumbles, stroking himself with jerky motions. 

"What should I say?"

"Anything. Sing." He regrets the words almost as soon as they're out of his mouth because he can feel the change in Jaskier's demeanour without having to look at him and he knows he's not going to get out of this one easily. Because Jaskier's voice does all sorts of filthy things to him at the best of times and right now he's overwhelmed and out of his own control. 

And Jaskier sings. Geralt can't even hear the lyrics through the haze of lust, but Jaskier's voice fills his head and Geralt drowns in it. He works himself quick and hard, focusing on the scent and sound of Jaskier and he comes on a high note, dropping forward so his head presses against the tree trunk. He catches his breath and, without skipping a beat, he wipes his hand on his trousers and buttons himself up around his still-hard cock. 

When this is over with, he's going to be sat down and forced to apologize about every awful thing he's ever said about Jaskier's singing. But for now, the ache subsides and Geralt is thankful for small mercies. And after this, Jaskier deserves whatever praise Geralt can give him. 

Jaskier hurries over to him, but Geralt still doesn't let him get too close. Even as they head back to camp, Geralt keeps his distance. His mind swims with shame and guilt, but even as he regrets getting off to Jaskier's voice, the need resurfaces. It's thicker, like a smog all around him and he can't breathe. It's worse now and Geralt isn't an idiot - he can pick up on a pattern. He does nothing, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier's voice and the feeling it encourages. 

He focuses on packing, getting his things together while he can so they can make their way back to town. Town means brothels and brothels mean relief so Geralt focuses on that. 

But even before he can finish, the heat returns worse than before, searing up the back of his neck. Geralt breaks out in a hot sweat, fingers clenched tightly around the fabric in his hand. He doesn't even know what it is anymore, doesn't remember what he was doing before the heat crept up on him again and he crouches down, pressing his free hand to the ground to steady himself. 

Jaskier slips up behind him, calm as always and rests a hand on his shoulder. It's probably intended to be comforting, but his touch is like a cool river in the dead of summer and Geralt moans at the relief. 

"Again?" Jaskier asks, not nearly as concerned as he should be, but he probably doesn't know a lot about sex magic. He slips up behind him, smoothing his hands up Geralt's back and pulling him back against him. 

Geralt wants to pull away, to spare Jaskier the humiliation of having to deal with him like this, but he can't fight the cool press of his hands and the intoxicating scent that fills his head once more. Jaskier rubs his shoulders like he's done countless times before, but when he starts pulling at his armour, undoing clasps and ties, the heat in Geralt’s belly swells. 

"You should go," he huffs but Jaskier just tuts at him as he pulls his chest piece over his head. Geralt feels lighter without his armour, but no less hot when Jaskier's fingers slip under the collar of his shirt - an accident, he's sure - Geralt doesn't have the strength to push him away. He moans at the first touch of Jaskier's skin against his own and hates how desperate he sounds. 

"I'm not going to leave you here like this," Jaskier hums, and Geralt flops back against his shoulder, whining as Jaskier's hands slip from his skin. "Tell me how I can help." 

“Please just go,” Geralt whispers, a last-ditch attempt at saving them both the humiliation, but it comes out aching and desperate and if Jaskier hears, he doesn’t show it.

Jaskier’s hands run down his chest and Geralt’s mind is laser-focused on that, like the only thing that matters in the world is Jaskier's hands. And right now that's what it feels like. He arches into the touch, rolling his head on Jaskier's shoulder and _gods_ it feels good, but it's not enough and he can't ask Jaskier for more. He won’t.

He shifts in Jaskier's arms, his hips twitching with every touch, every puff of breath against the top of his head. It's too much and it's not enough and Geralt feels like he's going to rip out of his skin before he gets through this. Realistically, he knows exactly what he needs, but maybe he can get through it like this, maybe he can just- 

Jaskier's fingers brush over his nipple and Geralt's body jerks without his permission, arching off of Jaskier and pushing against him. The moan that fills the air is wild and wanting and Geralt refuses to believe it came from him. He writhes in Jaskier's lap, fingers clenching hard around Jaskier's thighs to keep from doing something he'll regret. He aches to touch, but he's already let this go further than he'd have liked. Even if Jaskier is offering, he's not a willing partner, not really. 

But Jaskier is patient and his hands feel _so good_ and when he tips his head down next to his ear, he breathes softly against his ear. "Do what you need to," he breathes and Geralt groans in response. 

He doesn't want to. It's bad enough that Jaskier saw him before, he doesn't need a repeat performance. But now that the thought is in his head, his cock aches. It's pressed painfully against the front of his trousers and he longs to wrap his hand around himself, stroke himself off right here in Jaskier's lap. A new wave of heat prickles at the back of his neck just thinking about it. 

He moves his hands as slowly as his body will allow, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. His hands are shaky, his movements stilted, and he growls in frustration, shoving a hand into his trousers with only one button undone. It feels good, even if it's not his own hand he wants wrapped around him and he thrusts against his palm, snapping his hips up hard and fast. 

Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach and lift from his body, much to Geralt's displeasure. They hover above his groin and when he focuses hard enough, he can feel the heave of Jaskier's chest against his shoulders. 

"Can I-?" he asks and Geralt grits his teeth to keep from blindly allowing him whatever he wants. 

"What?" he groans. He needs to know what he wants, exactly what he wants because he can't bear to have Jaskier touch him like this, not this way. 

"Your buttons," he breathes and it only occurs to Geralt belatedly that he sounds very out of breath. He nods, turning his head against his chest to keep from seeing Jaskier's hands so close to his cock. 

He feels every tiny movement as Jaskier carefully gets his trousers undone and Geralt sighs as his cock is freed, squeezing a little tighter around the base. He's vaguely aware of Jaskier mumbling something in his ear and then he's being hauled upright again, which seems to take far too much effort and he doubts it was worth it. 

But as he shifts, Jaskier presses closer against his back. He slides his hands up Geralt's sides, tugging his shirt up over his head and breathing heavily against the back of his neck. And he's _hard_ , the length of him pressing into Geralt's lower back. 

This time, when he comes, with Jaskier's hands running up the insides of his thighs, there's no feeling of satisfaction. There's no rise and fall, just more of the same and he knows he's running out of time to get to town. Any human would be beyond their control now and Geralt is trying so hard to hold on, not to lose himself to the lust coursing through his veins. He has to go now.

But Jaskier's fingers creep up, pushing down into the vee of his hips and Geralt doesn't even try to stop him. He doesn't have the energy. When Jaskier takes him in hand, he tries to tell him no, that he can deal with this on his own, but Jaskier's touch is the only true relief he's had. 

Jaskier gets him off twice like this, but it's still not enough to satisfy the burning lust within him and Geralt realizes he's not getting to town without getting through this. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt's shoulder, breathing against his skin. 

"You need someone else," he realizes. And Geralt can't even speak. "I'll give it to you, anything you need, you just have to let me." 

As far as Geralt is concerned, this has already gone on for far too long and he wants to say no, but Jaskier's fingers slip loosely around his cock and for some gods forsaken reason, he _wants_ to help. 

"You don't want this," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier brushes the hair out of his eyes and leans over his shoulder. 

"I do," he says, "I hate to see you suffer." 

When Geralt shifts, Jaskier's cock presses into his ass and the sharp intake of breath against his ear nearly sends him over the edge again. The feeling is too much, too close to what he really wants and as he moves he catches the scent of him and groans. And underneath the heat and the unrelenting _want_ , a hint of genuine arousal slips through, strong enough that he can smell it even amidst the sweat and the stink of magic. Jaskier _wants him_. He refocuses himself, bracing himself on Jaskier's thighs and relents, nodding his assent against his shoulder. 

Jaskier is enthusiastic, giving him everything he can with his hands and his mouth - and gods, he can do some sinful things with his mouth. He touches him everywhere, never lifting his hands from Geralt's skin, even after he's come again and he's shaking with the effort of it. But it's still not enough. It's still not what he needs and Geralt still isn't willing to ask that of Jaskier, he'd rather suffer all through the walk back to town than put Jaskier in that position.

He bucks up into his own hand, groaning in frustration as it gets him nowhere. Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach, wrapping around him and gently pushing Geralt's hands aside.

"Let me," he breathes. Geralt isn't in any position to argue with him, so he drops his hands to Jaskier's knees, gripping firmly as his hips jerk up.

The worst part is that he knows Jaskier would say yes because sex isn't a big deal to him because he knows Geralt needs this. And that's why he can't ask. Because he won't suggest something that takes away Jaskier's choice. But he thinks about it, eyes clenched shut as he pushes back against Jaskier's cock. He shouldn't touch him, but Jaskier isn't stopping him and most of the time it's accidental anyway. Geralt can't keep still with hands on his cock and sliding down his thighs and he pushes back against him in the moment.

A couple of times he grunts out a stunted _I want-_ or _I need-_ but he never finishes what he's trying to say. The urgency just increases, spreading liquid heat through his entire body and Geralt is helpless to do anything but squirm in Jaskier's lap and take whatever is given to him. He reaches back behind him, curling his arm around the back of Jaskier's neck and pushing his fingers into his hair. Jaskier tips his head, nuzzling against Geralt's temple.

"Geralt," he breathes, "this isn't helping, is it?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Jaskier knows anyway. "You could fuck me." His voice is steady, not revealing any hint of fear or hesitation and the thought rips through Geralt in a rush of lust. But he can't, as much as he might want to. He can't control himself like this and the last thing he wants to do is hurt Jaskier while he's just trying to help. He can't. 

"What do you need, Geralt?" 

Geralt shuts his eyes and drops his chin against his chest. He doesn't want to say it because he knows it's not how he's supposed to be; he should be the strong one, the dominant one. But he can feel the swell of Jaskier's cock against him and he wants it so badly that he knows it can't just be the spell. 

"You can trust me, darling." Jaskier's wrist gives a flick at the head of his cock and Geralt whimpers at the friction. "Tell me what you need." 

Jaskier leans in, kissing his neck and Geralt knows it's intended as a comfort but he can't help but lean into it. He doesn't want to give in, not like this but he's too far gone now to make it to town and he probably couldn't find someone to help him in this state anyway. And there will already be repercussions for what they've done, so maybe he should- 

The hand he has fisted in Jaskier's hair tightens and he tips his head down, forcibly ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Jaskier as he does. He tugs Jaskier down close enough that he can feel his breath against his cheek. 

"Fuck me," he whispers, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. And Jaskier hesitates long enough that Geralt tries to pull away from him, but Jaskier doesn't let him. He pulls Geralt toward him, laying him down on his back and coming around to sit next to him. He runs his hand up Geralt's thigh and further to curl around his cock, stroking him slowly again. 

But it's still not enough and when Jaskier pulls away to undress, Geralt gets a hand around himself, working himself quick and hard despite the lack of relief it gives him. When Jaskier returns to him, he bats his hand out of the way and positions himself between his legs. Geralt holds his breath but Jaskier doesn't care about anything other than getting him through this and if Geralt was in his right mind he would be incredibly grateful for it. 

Jaskier doesn't waste any time getting the oil and as soon as his fingers are slick, he presses back between Geralt's cheeks. The first press is cold and unfamiliar, but Jaskier rubs against him, presses just firmly enough to push through the muscle, and Geralt's body adjusts. As Jaskier presses further, Geralt drops his head back against the dirt, giving up any pretense of watching what's happening. The burning need hasn't subsided at all, but Jaskier's fingers feel incredible, sliding around his rim and pressing into him. When he pushes a second digit into him, Geralt finds his body is quite receptive. 

It feels... good, like all of Jaskier's touches feel good, but this is different in a way he can't quite explain. He feels open and exposed but it doesn't feel wrong like he expected, he _likes_ it, and he's fairly certain that isn't an effect of the spell. Jaskier takes his time, working precisely and never neglecting Geralt's cock long enough for the need to overwhelm him. He doesn't give Geralt long to adjust to the third finger before he starts moving and Geralt understands, but he wants more and he wants it _now_. Jaskier crawls up over him, leaning against his chest as his fingers work slowly in and out. 

"Is this okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, his eyes slipping shut as Jaskier pushes deeper. "Fuck, do you like that?" He sounds so breathless and Geralt just groans as another wave of lust rolls over him, but Jaskier gets the idea. He doesn't wait any longer, slicking his cock with oil and pressing up against him. 

As Jaskier pushes into him, Geralt is aware of nothing but Jaskier’s cock and the way it opens him up as Jaskier presses closer. He looks up once to see him but Jaskier is oblivious. He's got his eyes clenched shut, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and o a regular day, the sight would be enough for Geralt to get off to - even without feeling him as well. 

When he finally sheaths himself, Jaskier pulls Geralt's hips up, holding them steady as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. He's being cautious, but right now Geralt doesn't need kindness and patience, and he hauls Jaskier down over him, shoving his hips back with a growl. 

"Fuck me," he snarls, and Jaskier does. It takes him a little bit to adjust to the fact that he's not going to hurt him and that what Geralt needs right now is to be fucked ruthlessly, but he gets it. 

And _gods_ , Geralt is barely conscious, floating somewhere between ecstasy and pain, but Jaskier is _very_ good at what he does. Geralt thinks vaguely that he understands why so many people risk their marriages and more to have the bard in their bed. He moans and whines under him, arching off the ground and groping at whatever part of Jaskier's body he can reach to hold on to. Blunt nails dig into Jaskier's shoulders and he'll feel bad about it later, but Jaskier doesn't even flinch, driving himself deeper and switching up the position so Geralt feels like he's choking on his cock. 

Geralt's hair is plastered to his face, his body shudders with every thrust, yet it burns for more and Jaskier never once lets up. When Geralt desperate, meekly, asks him to fuck him harder, he does without so much as a second thought, leaning over to brush his hair back and press hot kisses into his throat. Geralt feels like he's going to combust before he ever gets through this, but Jaskier is calm and his touch is Geralt's only respite. 

He moves with him, keeping Jaskier inside him as much as he can and he squeezes around him. He can tell the second his orgasm starts building and he wraps his legs around Jaskier instinctively, hauling him down against him. His cock is trapped between them and Geralt thrusts erratically, all sense of timing gone as Jaskier's cock slams into him, sending him over the edge.

He comes with a cry, arching up against Jaskier's body and grinding against him. It's barely satisfying, but the burning need retreats and Geralt is left sweaty and panting in the dirt. His body is dead weight, sinking into the ground and he knows he shouldn't want this, shouldn't let himself linger, but Jaskier is warm against his cooling skin and he can't bring himself to move. 

But, he realizes, Jaskier never came. And while he may be doing this to help Geralt, it's hardly fair that he's left unsatisfied for his troubles. Especially considering Geralt wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave for good after this. The least he can do is send him off happy. 

He shifts, winding his arms around Jaskier's waist and slowly sliding his hands down to cup his ass. Jaskier exhales a shaky breath, his hips following the motion set for them. His arms shake and he leans down, resting on his elbows so his nose is barely an inch from Geralt's. 

"Relax now, you don't have to do anything for me."

Geralt frowns as he meets his eyes. "You didn't come." Jaskier doesn't respond, but the faint blush that rises in his cheeks tells Geralt that he _did_ and Geralt finds that, despite everything, he’s sorry he missed that. "Oh."

Jaskier disentangles himself quickly after that and Geralt regrets making things awkward. Not that this was ever a comfortable situation, but he'll remember Jaskier's hands on him for many nights to come. He lets his arms fall to his sides, exhausted, and watches as, above him, Jaskier rises to his feet and walks away. There was no other option, he tells himself, and Jaskier _offered_ , but without the screaming urgency burning through his skin he doesn't feel the same conviction he did earlier.

He should get up and help Jaskier get his things together, then ride into town in case this gods awful thing flares up again. But he doesn't get further than sitting up before Jaskier returns, tutting at him and wrapping a blanket around him. He settles behind him, leaning against a tree trunk and pulls Geralt up between his thighs, brushing his hair back out of his face.

"You're not leaving?" Geralt asks and Jaskier stiffens against him, just for a second. 

"Of course not. What kind of friend would I be to leave you like this?" _Oh_. He hadn't considered an outcome where Jaskier wasn't disgusted. That... changes things. 

"It might come back," Geralt manages, half-ashamed, half-hopeful that Jaskier is genuine in his offer to stay.

"And if it does," Jaskier breathes, "I'm here."


End file.
